


To Water

by Lucipang



Category: Criminal Minds, Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Autistic Spencer Reid, Las Vegas, Spencer’s Past, Twice exceptionality, first work in this fandom, take it easy, there are some OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-05 19:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18834904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucipang/pseuds/Lucipang
Summary: The BAU takes up a case in Dr. Reid’s hometown: Las Vegas, Nevada.Teenagers abducted on their way to parties are found tied up. The cause of death? Too much water.The case hits closer to home than Reid expects when it appears to be tied to his old high school and middle school. Will he be able to put aside his terrible memories of the place to help solve the case?—-(This is not a very well thought through story... Whoops. My first Criminal Minds fanfic and my third fanfic ever.)





	1. Chapter 1

It was well known by the members of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit that Spencer Reid was a veritable genius. Lesser known was the true extent of his exceptionality, more specifically, that he was twice so. 

It did not take a genius to recognize Spencer Reid’s social ineptitude, but it took only a lack of attentiveness to overlook it. The fleeting eye contact and fidgeting gestures would betray someone not as well versed in the art of deception. It is only natural that these faults should be pointed out throughout a child’s development, and those with sufficient self awareness would seek to rectify them. Through this self awareness it came to be that his wavering gaze was replaced by an unfaltering one. Hesitance became confidence, and the discomfort of those around him became acceptance.

The process of learning to navigate the nuances of social interaction was not a quick one, and the memories of others were not quite so forgiving of change. Nor was his own, as a matter of fact. Years of careful observation and research brought him to where he was today. A place where he could smile in earnest and laugh in genuine amusement. Even so, there was not a single day when the rippling effect of those actions was not apparent to him. Everything he was was because of what he had worked to become. 

“Lucky.” It was with a single word that all that work was so casually brushed away. “You don’t have to work at all.” As much as he would try to justify himself, his efforts always paled in comparison to theirs. Reaching the expectation came easier to him, which he could not help. In response, he worked harder. 

“Overachiever.” Yet again it was a single word which defeated him. “We get it, you’re smart. No need to rub it in our faces.” Meeting the expectation easily made him lazy, exceeding it made him arrogant. Never meeting it at all? He never thought his pride could handle it. 

There it was, at his fingertips. The bar over which he had to pass, but only just barely, or else he would be hated. Of all of the cues he could read, that was the one he hated the most. That was the one that would leave him utterly alone. There came a time when he could not bear to face it any longer. Instead, he turned away, allowing himself to be engrossed entirely within his own expectations, only to find he was not welcomed by them either. 

Today, Spencer Reid was no longer just that. Now he was an agent, with doctorates in three separate fields. The manner by which he had accomplished this was simple: he had spent the years walking perilously on the line in between. 

“Three victims so far, it wasn’t sent to us sooner because the bodies turned up in three different counties,” Penelope Garcia, the BAU’s computer expert announced. Reid slipped carefully into his seat as noiselessly as possible while Garcia continued. “The remains of all three victims were found at various dump sites, with rope tying their hands and legs so as to limit but not completely restrict their movements.”

“What was the cause of death?” Rossi prompted. Reid held in his hands the case file and had already begun reading through it. 

“Hyponatremia,” Reid murmured as he snapped the file shut. “It says here they died from drinking an excess amount of water, but little to no water was found in their lungs, which would suggest they weren't being forced to drink.” 

“They died from too much water, but it wasn’t drowning?” Hotchner questioned, furrowing his brow slightly. “Assuming what they drank was drinking water, that would prevent us from using large bodies of water to narrow down the search area.” 

“Hyponatremia is typically seen in cyclists. Vigorous exercise causes the body to produce an antidiuretic called vasopressin, allowing the body to retain more water. Cyclists overcompensating for water loss through sweat results in them being over hydrated instead of dehydrated,” Reid began to explain. He had learned this in a high school biology course during the osmosis unit, when the teacher had provided a handout on the topic. “The excess water flows into the cells, causing them to burst. The symptoms include nausea, stomach pain, and swelling of the brain.”

“None of the victims were very involved in sports, as far as I can tell. The first victim, James Harsgreave, was reported missing by his parents after he didn’t return from a late night party,” Garcia chimed in. A picture of a young boy appeared on the screen behind her. “The second and third victims, Eloís Green and Richard Arkwright both attended Las Vegas High.” Reid pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Reid, that’s your hometown, isn’t it? Do you recognize the school?” J.J. prodded. Reid nodded begrudgingly. He recognized the school because that was where he had attended for a few years before graduating high school. 

“Las Vegas High School alumni, right here,” Reid provided as a form of affirmation. “My high school years weren’t nearly as eventful.” Morgan sent him a knowing look. Hotch took the time to gather some papers. 

“Wheels up in thirty,” he stated as he pushed away from the table to stand. 

“How are you feeling about going back to Las Vegas?” Morgan asked as they boarded the plane. It was a seemingly innocent question to the rest of the team, if they did not pay attention to how carefully it was asked. Reid was well aware of what Morgan was actually inquiring. “Will you be visiting your mother again?” Reid nodded, a small smile flitting across his face.

“Yes, I’ll probably take the time to visit. They told me she’s doing really well right now,” Reid responded as enthusiastically as one would see him. It has hurt him to commit his mother to the sanatorium. Now that it was finally yielding some positive results, however, the guilt had subsided to a bearable level. “There isn’t much back there for me other than her, though.” Morgan nodded in understanding of what Reid meant: he had left his past behind him. 

It was freshman year, the same year that he had learned about hyponatremia in biology, that he had been coaxed out into the open for a meeting with Alexa Lisbon. Morgan knew the story, but no one else on the team did. It was not a story that Reid had ever felt inclined to share. The humiliation of hanging on the goal post, clothes just out of his grasp. It was tantalizing. 

A while after the plane took off, a screen built into a panel flickered to life. Glasses clad Garcia appeared and eyes looked up from case files. 

“Some updates from the coroners’ reports came in. All three victims had fruit in their stomachs, it seems to have been their last meal. Poor things, not even a decent meal before they died. I was doing background checks on the victims and you won’t believe what I found,” Garcia gushed. Her portrait shrank to the left corner of the screen as some more images were pulled up. The sound of her furious typing continued in the background. “You already know that the last two victims attended Las Vegas High School, but the third was the son of a teacher employed there. He was slotted to attend there this year, but his family ended up moving to a different school district.” Reid paused for a moment, the story sounded oddly familiar. 

“About the fruit, were there any signs of starvation leading up to their death? There’s an ancient Greek myth about Tantalus in which a man feeds his own children to the gods and is punished by being trapped beneath a fruit tree in a pool of water. Whenever he bent his head to drink, the water receded, and whenever he reached for the fruit, the boughs would pull away,” Reid pondered. The UnSub could be reenacting said Greek myth, only a more modern version. 

“That would line up with the rope hobbling the victims. Rather than restraining them in a way that would impede all movement, instead he would only hinder them to allow them to experience temptation,” Rossi added thoughtfully. “Garcia, does it indicate why the victim’s family moved to another school district? The three could have been involved in an incident the UnSub perceives as wrongfully resolved.” The tell tale sound of typing resounded before another document showed up. 

“Gotcha. According to James Harsgreave’s school transcript, he had a lot of trouble in school. He was involved in an altercation with one of his peers before his middle school graduation, and was suspended from the end of the school year trip. He moved in with his older sister the following summer,” Garcia reported, pushing up her catseye glasses. “The student with whom he fought isn’t listed in the report, due to privacy reasons. I’ll see if I can find mention of the altercation in the school records of the other two victims, who attended the same middle school.” With that, the screen blinked off.

“Morgan, Reid— You’ll be going to Las Vegas Middle School to interview the past teachers of the victims. J.J. and Prentiss— you’ll be in charge of speaking with the Arkrights and Greens. See if either Elois or Richard had any history of partying,” Hotch barked. “Rossi, you and I will be coordinating with the local police to establish a search area. Reid, do you have any input on the matter?”

“We can assume the UnSub’s hunting ground will be limited to around Las Vegas High School. It’s likely that anyone involved in the middle school incident would have gone there,” Reid offered, although he knew it was not very helpful. Had he known more, he would have shared it. 

Reid attended Las Vegas Middle School for two years before transferring to the corresponding high school. He had to admit, his memories of middle school were much fonder than those of high school. The class sizes were smaller, the teachers had more time for him. During eighth grade he had been allowed to study science independently, and so was able to have a free period spent in the library. He wondered if the old librarian was still there. 

“So this is where you attended middle school then, huh?” Morgan easily swung open the door to the front office, and they were blasted by the chill of the air conditioning. The artificial lighting glinted harshly off of the waxed tile floors and gave off a low irritating hum. A woman with glasses perched on the edge of her nose looked at them from behind the front desk. 

“Are you with the police? They called ahead of time to say you would need to speak with the principal,” the woman said, pursing her lips as she looked them up and down. Reid was still extremely self conscious of the fact he did not exactly look like an FBI agent. The woman seemed tempted to say something before deciding against it. Morgan had pulled out his badge. “Ms. Embry is in her office. Right this way.” She stood abruptly, the chair spinning slightly. Reid resisted the urge to reach out and steady it.

If he had heard right, she had just said the principal was Ms. Embry. He guessed his librarian friend had received a promotion since he had last seen her. He was surprised that the sweet lady who always complained about the school administrators would have taken up the mantle of being the principal. Then again, she had always been full of surprises. Like the time she told him he could check out as many books as he liked. 

Her office was not marked in any way, just another door along with the rest except for the number beside it. Oddly enough, it read 246. As far as he could remember, there was no room 245 or 243. Maybe the room numbering system had changed since he had last been there. He knocked before gently pushing the door open, and his suspicions were confirmed. Perched in a seat behind the desk was Ms. Embry. 

“Reid? Is that you?” Her mouth hung slightly open in disbelief before she got to her feet and composed herself. “You finally decided to pay your favorite librarian a visit. And who is this, might I add?” She nodded her head at Morgan. Reid could not help the grin splitting his face. 

“This is Agent Morgan, a coworker of mine,” Reid spluttered. “He and I are here on official business for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. We have a few questions about the records of some students who attended here a few years ago.” 

“You two seem to know each other well. Reid’s not even insisting on the ‘Dr.’ this time,” Morgan chuckled. “We have some questions about a fight involving a student by the name of James Harsgreave, but afterward I would love to hear about some of Reid’s middle school exploits.” Morgan reached out a hand to shake and Ms. Embry accepted it. 

“I already pulled out the files on him, as well as the other two students,” Ms. Embry said, letting out a heavy sigh as she rifles through the things on her desk. She glanced up briefly during her search. “Are you a doctor now Reid? I don’t remember it being in your plans to go to medical school.” She found one of the files she was looking for and handed it to him. 

“Reid has gotten himself three doctorates since you’ve last seen him. Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering,” Morgan supplied. Ms. Embry smiled in a way that showed her pride. “Now he’s the BAU’s resident genius. We’re happy to have him.” Reid smiled politely, but he knew both of the people present saw straight through it, but both seemed to relish his embarrassment. 

Meanwhile, Reid skimmed the file on James Harsgreave. It was written in Ms. Embry’s spidery, slanted handwriting. The whole ordeal was meticulously documented, showing accounts of parents, teachers, and fellow students, the last of which being the least credible. She had noted that many students had chosen to turn a blind eye. There was plausible deniability for not having witnessed the events, as the fight occurred around the corner of the library during lunch period, which was not visible from the main courtyard. 

“... As far as I know, Harsgreave, Green, and Arkwright has nearly nothing in common. I have the yearbook from that year available, they didn’t even share any extracurriculars,” Ms. Embry mumbled with a sigh of resignation as she shook her head. This was the first time that Reid noticed she had aged considerably. The lines of her face had become more pronounced, her eyes more sunken in, and she had an unhealthy pallor. Reid glanced back down at the file.

“Green is listed as one of the witnesses of the fight,” Reid pointed out. “It says here that she had a job as a library aide at the time of the fight.” Ms. Embry’s eyes lit up in dim recognition as they glanced at the file in his hands. He handed it back to her as he pointed out the line to which he was referring. 

“Ah, yes! I had forgotten about that,” she said hurriedly. “There has been so many kids over the years, it has become hard to keep track. Unfortunately, there are only a handful as memorable as you, Reid.” Reid was embarrassed by the praise, but brushed it off and said nothing. He had grown accustomed to it over the years, and Ms. Embry must have assumed so. Still, it was strange hearing such words fall so easily from his mentor’s lips.

Morgan’s phone began to ring and he excused himself as he answered. It was probably a member of the time, Reid figured, or Morgan would not have answered it. Reid was left alone with Ms. Embry whose shoulders relaxed a bit. 

“You’ve grown up so much over the years.” Ms. Embry’s eyes were watering slightly, which was strange. She had never been so emotional. “With so many kids I never get to see what becomes of them. The second I hand them off to high school, they drop off my radar. You have no idea how good it has been to see you, Reid, and the wonderful young man you’ve become.” She reached over and straightened out his jacket as he barely suppressed the urge to flinch away. 

“You have no idea how much you meant to me growing up, Ms. Embry,” Reid managed as he smiled fondly. It was true, seeing her had always been the highlight of his lunch. “Just know you were a huge part in shaping who I am today.” It was a weak response, which he knew, but he hoped it would suffice. He did not expect it to worsen the issue. Too late he caught sight of the bunched up, crumbling tissue clenched tightly in her frail hand. 

“James, Elois, Richard…” She trailed off, staring into the distance. What he thought were her shoulders relaxing had actually been sagging. Bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders, like the tear soaked tissues she had begun to crumble. Reid was tempted to reach out an arm as if to steady her, but it would not help because the world was not actually shaking. It just felt as if it was. “I’ll never see them succeed, like you have, Reid. And Arkwright? He had a bright future ahead of him, just like you. One that will never be fulfilled.” A phone snapped shut in the background. 

“Ma’m, we’re doing everything within our power to stop the person responsible.” Morgan words dropped in the silence and sat there, unchallenged by any verbal protest. Ms. Embry handed over copies of all three student files, sniffling slightly. “Reid, Hotch just called. We have places to be.” The last part was punctuated by a pointed look, one that told Reid that ‘places’ meant a crime scene. Another one. 

Ms. Embry and Reid said their goodbyes, which was tearful for one of them. Reid felt something akin to guilt leaving her alone like that, but he knew his time would be better spent on the case. Solving the case was his best shot at helping her. Morgan offered his own, more formal, farewell before he and Reid began to walk to the car in silence. 

“Seriously, Reid, how did you two know each other so well? You were awfully close for a teacher and student,” Morgan said with a hint of suspicion, not that he was trying to hide it. Reid knew what Morgan was insinuating was not as terrible as one could expect. He worked on a team of profilers, he had to expect being profiled. And maybe there was some truth to the fact that Ms. Embry stood in for his mother, on her bad days. “You didn’t have trouble at this school too, did you?”

Reid shook his head. If he were being completely honest, with Morgan and himself, he did have trouble. But it was a different variety than what Morgan was thinking. He would not call middle school a lonely time, but he did spend a good part of it alone. 

“I couldn’t stand eating in the cafeteria when I was in middle school. There was so much noise and squeezing between people— so I’d wait on the benches outside while my friend finished lunch,” Reid admitted. Morgan knew the benches he was talking about. They were rusted, uncomfortable looking things tucked beneath a few scraggly trees in the courtyard. “Some days I wouldn’t see my friend… Ms. Embry used to invite me into the library to eat lunch with her and the library aides. Plus, she would let me check out more than the two book maximum.” 

“I can see why you would grow close to her.” Morgan slid into the driver’s seat just as Reid got into the passenger side. “There was something off about her, though. Remember that this is a case just like any other.” It was a warning, and an obvious one. It did grate on Reid’s nerves a bit that Morgan would even consider it a problem, but he promised that he would keep it in mind. 

The dumping site of the next victim was a public park in a residential district, far out in the open. The UnSub had clearly wanted the body seen, and it had been. Several panicked calls from the neighbors, and the local police arrived on scene to cordon off the area with yellow tape. Reid and Morgan deftly lifted up the tape as they ducked inside, briefly flashing their badges. They joined Rossi and Hotch beside the body. 

It was a teenage girl who was dressed for a party. As with the other victims, rope loosely bound her hands and legs in a way that would restrict movement. Her eyes were closed and the hair brushed almost gingerly away from her face. Her clothes were only slightly damp, probably due to having dried in the sun. Her blue tinged lips were extremely cracked. 

“Jessica Cedar, she was reported missing only last night by her parents. All the other victims had been missing for almost a week before being found, even though evidence shows they were killed soon after their abduction. The change from disposing of the bodies in a secluded place to a public place could show that the UnSub is devolving,” Hotch noted.

“Let’s think about this, we had assumed the UnSub was a male, as we assumed them to be within the same social circles as James Harsgreave, but there have been no signs of sexual assault on any of the victims. In addition, the way the victim has her eyes closed and hair brushed back shows remorse,” Rossi added. Reid bent down closer to examine her face. She had worn mascara and eyeliner, probably for the party she had clearly been dressed for. 

“The clothes are damp, which could suggest she had been submerged in water, contradictory to our previous assumption based on the fact the victims weren’t being drowned. Given the long period between when they were killed and found, it would explain why the clothes have been dry by the time we have found them. Also, look at her makeup,” Reid beckoned them to crouch beside him before carefully pointing with a gloved hand. “It’s not even smudged. Unless she was wearing waterproof mascara, the victim’s head was never submerged beneath the water.”

“Wouldn’t that line up with what you mentioned about Tantalus earlier?” Morgan looked to Reid who nodded with a grim expression. A fleeting thought crossed Reid’s mind, one so silly he dared not entertain it aloud, so instead he dismissed it. It was an old saying which had no relevance to the case at hand. 

J.J. and Prentiss appeared besides them. Reid straightened himself up, brushing off his knees. Hotch addressed them both. 

“Any news?”

“You were right, both Arkwright and Green were known as frequent partygoers. It seems they were also on their way to parties when they were abducted by the UnSub,” Prentiss reported. “Neither were driving themselves, however. They both said a friend was taking them, the families weren’t sure who.” Her disappointment was clear. 

“Garcia is scouring traffic cams now, but so far nothing. Whoever picked them up knew how to avoid the cameras through side roads.” J.J. also seemed dejected at not having any more information to offer. 

“Are we ready to give the profile then—“ Hotch was interrupted by the yelling of a young man pacing along the yellow tape. A police officer continued to gently remind him that it was an active crime scene while holding their hands out in a placating manner, but the man only became more riled up. 

“Spencer? Spence! Tell ‘em I know you!” A familiar face dodging the police officer waved as Reid made a critical mistake: eye contact. Cal Kiton’s eyes lit up and his face settled into a smug expression. “Look, that guy over there with long hair? He saw me, he’s my friend!” The police officer still eyed Cal skeptically until Reid began to reluctantly trudge his way over. 

“You were friends with a guy like him?” Rossi asked, raising an eyebrow. “I know you didn’t exactly have the luxury of picking and choosing, but—“

“We weren’t friends,” Reid stated firmly. “I barely knew him. We only attended the same school for one year.” Cal feigned genuine hurt. 

“Oh, Spencer, you wound me!” Cal put up a sorrowful expression, clutching dramatically at his heart, before letting it slip away to reveal his garrish grin. It was in far too good humor to be done only a few yards from a corpse, for Spencer’s taste, and apparently also that of present company. “If you don’t remember me, you have to at least remember my brother.”

Reid stiffened. Of course he remembered him. Ken Kiton, a member of the high school football team. One that was especially close with Alexa Lisbon. He suppressed a shudder and Morgan was beside him. Now was not the time to be thinking about something so far in the past. Still, he clenched a fist to keep it from shaking. 

“What do you want, Cal? If there was anything you saw, maybe a suspicious vehicle passing through the neighborhood this morning, let us know,” Reid said through gritted teeth. He never had a problem with Cal when they were kids, but back then they had just ignored each other. 

“What if I could do you one better?” Cal suggested, looking awfully pleased with himself. The team was shocked at how forthcoming he was. “What if I could tell you who the killer was?”

“You’re being serious, right? This isn’t some case of a murder mystery—“ Cal had never been the most mature of their grade. It had not gotten better with time, or so it seemed. The smile dropped.

“Of course.”


	2. Chapter 2

“You looked at their school records, right?” Cal looked to them for confirmation as Morgan reluctantly nodded. “It all started on the day of that fight, with James Harsgreave. Go talk to his classmates about why he said he transferred. Something tells me that he changed a lot after leaving Las Vegas Middle.” A cryptic smile crept its way across Cal’s face. 

“Don’t waste our time, you said you had information on who killed Jessica Cedar. Did you know Cedar personally? Was there anyone who had motive to do so?” Hotch was being surprisingly patient, it seemed, until a dark look flashed over his eyes. Cal shifted uneasily, some of the nonchalance from before gone, as Hotch let out an exasperated sigh. “Could you at least tell us of her involvement in the fight?”

The mention of this was odd to Reid. Jessica Cedar had not been named a single time in any of the three students files, or in the accident report. If she had been involved, Ms. Embry would have documented it. Then again, it was possible that Ms. Embry’s age was catching up with her. She may not have been as attentive as she once was. Reid shook away the thought. The Ms. Embry he had met in the principal’s office was as kind and honest as the one he had known in middle school. Less optimistic, maybe, but still patient. 

“Jessica Cedar loved to hangout in the library,” Cal mused, suddenly standing on the tips of his toes to peer over the wall of agents. “For a bookworm, she sure didn’t dress like it. Then again, a lot of people reinvent themselves after middle school, don’t they, Reid?” 

Cal must have been referring to the way Cedar was dressed— as well as all of the other victims. They had assumed the victims were victims of opportunity, meant to serve as surrogates for someone from the UnSub’s past. While the latter was still very much possible, if the change in character Cal had mentioned was a trend among all of the victims, that would indicate surveillance and planning, possibly even a personal connection—

“Spencer, are you okay?” J.J. hand gently brushed his shoulder in a fleeting gesture of concern and realizing it Reid let his posture go slack, losing any of its previous tension. The wind blew softly across his face as he gathered his thoughts. 

“I’m fine.” Reid waved his hand in a dismissive way as he scanned his surroundings. Cal was gone, Hotchner’s mood had worsened, and Morgan was waiting expectantly outside the yellow tape. “I don’t want to keep Morgan waiting.” He set off towards the boundaries of the crime scene in a brisk walk, uncomfortably aware of J.J.’s eyes trailing after him. Morgan lifted the tape as Reid ducked out. 

“Kid, what was that Kiton guy saying about reinventing yourself? I know I have no right to be poking around in your past, but… I’m here if you want to talk,” Morgan said as he averted his gaze, choosing instead to focus on the car parked by the curb in front of him. He easily slid into the driver’s seat, leaving Reid scrambling to open the passenger door. 

As soon as Reid closed his own door, the noise of the neighborhood was blocked out, the commotion becoming a distant, muffled hum. The student files Reid withdrew from his messenger bag punctuated the near silence with a noise like rustling leaves each time he shuffled the papers in contemplation. He knew he did not need to look at them anymore, but there was something comforting about having them in front of him. The car purred to life as the key jangled in the ignition. A phone with the Maps application opened up was precariously balanced on the dashboard. 

“We’re heading back to the precinct to work on the geographical profile,” Morgan informed him, focusing intently on the rear view mirror as he peeled away from the car lined curb. “J.J. and Prentiss went to interview Cedar’s family. What have you found out from the student files?” Reid was relieved to be discussing case details again. 

“Cal was right about the change in character. According to their transcripts, all three victims started out with terrible grades. For Green, it changed her third year. For Arkwright and Harsgreave, both improved early in their seventh years. Green’s improvement coincides with becoming a library aide, but there’s nothing on the other two,” Reid began. Extracurriculars were not recorded in the student file, unless they were a recognized sport or took place outside of school hours. “There wasn’t a single teacher in common among the three of them, as the difficulty of all of their classes vary— Interesting… Each of them were shown to be proficient in at least one subject.”

“Did Green have any known associates? Kids she would typically hang out with? If they spent time in the library with her, chances are they might know about her relation to the fight,” Morgan suggested. 

“There is an Anna mentioned,” Reid offered, frowning. He found it strange that Ms. Embry would not include this Anna’s last name. “Apparently she often came around to spend time with Green in the library, although she wasn’t a library aide. Maybe Ms. Embry could supply us with a last name, if we called her up—“

“No need.” Morgan pulled over to the side of the road and reached for his phone on the dashboard. One quick call later, and the voice of the ever cheerful Penelope Garcia sounded out from the car’s speakers. “Hi, Baby Girl. We were wondering if you could find a last name for us. Anna, she would have attended Las Vegas Middle School in the past couple years.”

“She was in Green’s grade, so she would have attended at the same time,” Reid chimed in.

“You have such faith in me, my sweets, and it’s well founded. But when I account for all the different variations of her original first name, Annabelle, Anika, Ana with one n, and so on I still get a whopping 36 options. Apparently it was a popular name,” Garcia sighed. Reid knew that she was not yet admitting defeat. “Is there anything else you can give me? Birthdate? Hair color?” Her prompting was received by a moment of silence, until Morgan piped up. 

“Check Green’s social media, see if any of those Anna’s are following her. Did any of the Anna’s following her attend the same middle school, but go to a different high school? When Green’s family was interviewed, they didn’t mention an Anna. It could be a case of two teenage girls losing touch.” Garcia mumbled about being able to work with that. Fervent typing was taking place on the other end of the line. 

“How do you know that they didn’t grow apart for other reasons? Middle school is a dramatic time, anything could hav— My chocolate Adonis, remind me to never doubt you again. We have one Angela Mercer, same grade as Green. She moved to a neighboring school district after middle school,” Garcia rambled. “Sending you her address now.” There was a ping as the screen of Morgan’s phone briefly lit up. 

“Thanks again, Baby Girl, couldn’t do it without you,” Morgan said affectionately before hanging up to make another call. He glanced at the time then over to Reid. “I’ll call Hotch and let him know about the change of plans. We should probably drop those off at the precinct first, though.” He nodded at the papers in Reid’s hands. They would be needed so the rest of the team could construct a profile. The sooner they could get information out about the UnSub’s victimology, the better. 

“I might have to stay to work on the geographical profile,” Reid noted with a grimace. Too many places to be at once. “Would it be possible for J.J. and Prentiss to speak with Anna instead?” Morgan immediately shook his head. 

“Her address is in practically the opposite direction. Besides, Prentiss and J.J. have already interviewed the other families, it wouldn’t be fair on them.” Morgan eased back onto the road, minding the traffic. It was already late in the afternoon, as they had arrived just before midday. “I could always bring someone else along, or we could wait until tomorrow morning.” Reid absentmindedly nodded in agreement to the second suggestion. They could all do with some sleep. It was a few hours later back on the east coast, after all. He could really use his usual cup of sugar with a dash of coffee. 

When they pulled into the precinct, the sky was already a fiery orange with a tinge of red running a line along the horizon. Shadows grew long and dark on the cracked sidewalks, though there had not been a need to turn on the headlights just yet. The engine was lulled to sleep by the sound of the key clicking out of the ignition and the air conditioning died. When Reid pushed open the car door, he was not ready to be welcomed once again by the oven that is Arizona. 

“You’d think it would get cooler,” Morgan grumbled, wiping the sweat from his brow. Reid himself could feel the salt crusted on his skin and the sweat pooling at the back of his shirt collar. Swiping a dry tongue over parched lips, he felt the dull, throbbing pain that marked the onset of a headache. Probably just dehydration. 

“It doesn’t get much cooler than this,” Reid muttered, unamused. “There should be air conditioning inside, though.” He was glad, in the very least, to finally have something to say to fill the silence. In the car, he had found himself poring over the very same facts over and over— with no progress. Fresh eyes were what he needed, and they were waiting inside. Morgan, possibly encouraged by what Reid had said, hurried towards the promising glass doors casting blue light onto the pavement. 

It was cooler inside, just as they had hoped. It was also very loud. Reid could hardly hear himself think over the clamor of police officers calling to each other from across the room and the traffic in the narrow hallway leading to the conference rooms. The ever present smell of freshly printed paper was accompanied by printers whirring to life, just as often as by the sound of documents being tossed into a wastebasket. Reid could barely make out the figure of Hotch through the shuttered glass walls of Conference Room B, to which they had been directed. 

Hotchner stood at the head of the table, with the crime scene photos spread out in front of him, occasionally asking questions of the police officer who stood next to him. Rossi was reading through the case reports regarding the discovery of the other three bodies. Pinned up on a bulletin board was an overhead map of the city. Reid hung his messenger bag on the back of a chair, handing off the student files to Rossi, as he set to work. 

Some of the work had already been done for him. The dump sites, as well as the location of Las Vegas Middle School, were already marked on the board. In addition, they had marked the place of residence of the victims and what he presumed to be their intended destination of the night they had gone missing. Bodies of water, including pools, had been marked by pins as well. 

The victims’ planned routes did not intersect. Not only that, the final dump sites were far away from the planned routes. All of the victims’ rides reported that they had made it to the party, yet none of them could account for who had been the victims’ rides home. This would mean that the victims had been abducted on their way back, possibly even at, the parties. Whether or not they had chosen to make a detour would be near impossible to tell. 

“Rossi, was there any alcohol in the victims’ systems?” Reid called. Rossi looked up from his papers in slight surprise. 

“None, actually. Strange considering that they’re teenagers going to parties on the weekend,” he responded. “We think it is possibly the victims chose to leave early on in the party, which would explain why none of them took their planned ride home.”

“If we look at how far the dump sites are from each of their respective ways home, we can assume that either they had a different destination, or that the bodies were moved to throw off our scent. Either way, we know there is another site where the torture must have taken place.” Reid contemplated as he looked at the map, considering the area equidistant from the first three dump sites. Before Cedar had been placed in the park, all of the victims had been found in secluded areas. Assuming there was no statement to be made, those areas would have been chosen due to convenience. The park, a public place, would be the exception. There was a body of water marked near the park, a creek, but information from the last geographical survey indicated it would likely be too shallow to submerge the body of a human. “Is there any information on the water that was ingested by the victims?”

“According to the ME’s report, very few traces of microbial contaminants were found. We’re probably looking at treated water, like tap water,” Rossi answered after flipping through another folder from the pile. “We can rule out the creek, then.” Reid promptly replaced the tack on the bulletin marking the creek with that of an another color denoting lower priority. 

“The issue I’m coming across is whether or not the UnSub had a personal connection to the victims. When Morgan and I checked out their middle school, we found out that they were all directly or indirectly involved in the same incident in the eighth grade,” Reid said, gesturing at the student files. The accident report had thus far been left untouched. “If we assume that incident is central to the UnSub’s fantasy, they probably either attended or worked at the school, meaning they probably live, or lived, within the school district of Las Vegas Middle School, even though the dumping sites span across counties.” Hotch wrapped up a conversation with the police officer just as Morgan got off of the phone with Garcia. 

“If what you’re saying is right, chances are they haven’t moved,” Hotch added in. “That personal connection would also explain why the victims would be willing to go with the UnSub while completely sober. They could be an adult who has been extremely involved in their lives, one they trust to drive them home.”

“It could also be another teenager, one that was at the party as well. A friend they could trust,” Rossi pointed out. Morgan shook his head. 

“The crimes themselves— carefully planned and meticulous— don’t reflect the immaturity of a teenager. Neither does the composure with which they escalated the crimes,” Morgan rebuffed. “We’re looking for someone older.”

“The two male victims— Harsgreave and Arkwright— were both athletic kids. I can’t imagine a kid of the same age taking them quietly. They would have fought harder, had more injuries,” Reid supplied in an attempt to bolster Morgan’s argument. “The way the eyes were closed, almost indicative of remorse, also seem more like the actions of a parental figure.” The door to the conference room swung open, and Prentiss and J.J. slid inside just in time to hear the tail end of the conversation. 

“All of the kids seemed to come from happy families. No one missing, no one out of the picture. On the surface, everything is perfect,” Prentiss said, shaking her head slightly. She sat down heavily in one of the chairs by the table, moving slightly side to side as she gently spun in her chair. She had bags beneath her eyes and a weary expression on her face, evidence of the taxing conversations she had shared with grieving parents. The entire team knew bearing that weight never became any easier. To think Reid had considered asking them to visit another home— “On the surface, they always are. If it is an adult figure, it would have to be someone from the school setting. There’s almost no overlap in their personal lives. All of the victims seemed to keep to themselves until—“

“High school,” Reid mumbled, finishing the thought. He knew he should not have interrupted, but he also knew that he would not have been able to bring himself to speak up on the matter any other way. “All three of the first victims struggled academically until later in middle school. We could assume that is when the parent figure may have intervened. It isn’t that far fetched that after reinventing themselves academically, they would want to reinvent themselves socially as well.”

“Their families didn’t mention any tragic events at the beginning of their middle school years that would have resulted in bad grades,” J.J. said in a way that implied a question. Reid’s heaved a heavy sigh as he prepared himself for an all too personal explanation. 

“There doesn’t have to be. According to their student records, all three of them were skilled in one area or another. Math, social studies, science— they all had their own forte,” he explained, flipping over to the respective pages of the student files to demonstrate. “But they all had their own struggles as well. Issues with paying attention, problems with executive function, social anxiety— there was no support system for students such as those in middle school. In a lot of cases, they reach a point in time in which they— for lack of a better word— ‘crash and burn.’ That reinvention could just be not marking themselves as ‘trouble students.’” That confession of sorts all seemed to come out in one breathe as Reid tried not to betray his absolute terror of the fact that they would know. Why wouldn’t they, a team of profilers who should by all means realize he was speaking from personal experience—

“So the UnSub views themselves as a hero to their victims. They probably came across them in a school environment and facilitated their academic improvements. Later, seeing the party animals they had become in high school, they saw fit to punish them,” Rossi summed up. “How does this tie in with the story of Tantalus, assuming that is the basis of the torture?”

“Wasn’t Tantalus the guy who fed his own children to the gods?” J.J. asked hesitantly. 

“Yes, he was. Cannibalism, one of the worst crimes in Greek mythology, was what he was eventually punished for,” Prentiss answered. She squinted uncertainly as if trying to remember something from long ago. “Until then, he was favored by Zeus, despite having a track record of violating the god’s trust.” 

“He even stole Zeus’ favored dog and wasn’t punished for it. However, according to other variations of the myth, he only hid the dog for a thief and then refused to return it. The gods still believed that he would be able to learn from his mistakes. It was then he chose to hold the notorious feast where the cannibalism took place,” Reid supplemented. “The lake and fruit became his punishment. It’s an extremely well known myth, so our suspect list should not be limited to those with a background in history.”

“Good to know this list won’t be getting any shorter,” Morgan noted he tossed what looked like an entire ream of paper on the table. “Garcia just sent that over. A list of all of the current faculty and faculty from the time of the incident, along with their current places of residence. There is also information on district substitutes, tutoring services affiliated with the school, and teacher aides.”

“Are we ready to give a profile?” Hotch scanned over them all expectantly. There were no protests, but Morgan sent Reid a look. Angela Mercer. 

“A friend of Elois Green, Angela Mercer, may be able to tell us more about the library altercation. I called you up earlier to let you know we might make the stop, until we found out it was on the other side of town. We might want to hold off on sharing the profile until we have interviewed her as well,” Morgan cautioned. Hotch looked ready to argue until he looked at his watch and noticed the time.

“J.J., go talk to Angela Mercer early tomorrow morning. Take Reid with you, he is most familiar with the student files and the incident details,” Hotch ordered before straightening up some of his things. “We’ll be delivering the profile at 11:00 AM. As of right now, there’s a 6:30 PM curfew in all of the counties of the abduction sites. Go get some rest.”

Reid blinked owlishly when they stepped out into the darkness as his eyes tried to adjust to the lack of light. He was grateful for how lucky they had been to be parked so close to the entrance. Closing his eyes for even a moment would have resulted in him passing out right there and then. Both Morgan and Reid had their go bags tossed haphazardly tossed in the back seat, and they would be sharing a hotel room. 

Yet another silent drive later, they found themselves pulling up to their abode for the duration of the trip. The sun bleached, beige walls of the hotel were illuminated by the golden lights staked into the ground amid the sparse shrubbery. A slightly dusty looking, dark green pergola was propped up over the front entrance which consisted of a rotating door. Glinting brass lettering spelled out the name of the hotel: The Scorpion. 

It was two levels and had no elevator, much to Reid’s annoyance. They found this out when they went to the front desk to receive their hotel key cards. The lobby had been deserted, probably due to the time of night. He and Morgan lugged their bags up a flight of rickety wooden stairs. If the hotel was so called because it was a danger to the lives of its guests, it was a fitting name. 

“— 1,000 people die each year from falling down stairs, with the most at risk being the elderly. 65% of visitors in Las Vegas are over the age of 40, and 92% of which stay in hotels like this one. Meanwhile elevators kill only 30 people a year,” Reid rambled, though he was fairly sure Morgan was not listening. It probably was not a worthy venture, anyways, convincing the hotel staff that an elevator would be a wise investment. 

“Is over the age of 40 elderly now? Don’t tell Rossi that,” Morgan chuckled, swiping the key card and pushing open the door. Apparently he was listening. Morgan held the door open as Reid lumbered inside with his own bag in tow. “That looks heavy. Books?” Reid nodded sheepishly. 

“Just some light reading that wasn’t as light as I had hoped.” He offered a small smile before shuffling over to claim a bed. Fiddling with the straps on his messenger bag, he took a breath before turning to Morgan hesitantly. 

“Something you wanna talk about?” Morgan offhandedly said as he pulled toiletries from his own pack. “I’m all ears, Genius Boy.”

“Remember what I said about Alexa Lisbon?” Reid had turned away to unpack his own things, but he heard Morgan still. His throat grew tight but he still pushed himself to continue. “Cal Kiton’s older brother was a member of the football team.” 

“No wonder you hated him so much,” Morgan muttered. Reid could hear the anger rising in his voice, but he knew Morgan would rein it in, for his sake. “... Let me know if he gives you trouble, alright?”

“It’s not just that,” Reid sighed. “We went to the same middle school. I was ten at the time, right around when my father left, I wasn’t doing all that great in school. When Cal said I reinvented myself… He was right, I tried to. I tried to be more social, more normal— which is why I went along with Alexa Lisbon despite knowing there was something wrong.” If there was anything more to the story, it stuck in his throat and stayed there.

“We have all made stupid decisions while trying to fit in,” Morgan said after a long pause. He resumed unpacking. “Especially as kids. Get some rest, Reid. You have to wake up early tomorrow.” Morgan slipped off to the restroom to shower, Reid assumed. 

Reid told himself he would close his eyes and lay his head on his pillow for just a second. And of course, he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It made me really happy to see that there were people interested in reading this story. If you have any questions about the story itself, feel free to ask. I wouldn’t be surprise if clarification is needed...
> 
> This chapter ties back to the concept of twice exceptionality mentioned in the first chapter. People who are twice exceptional are intelligent despite having a learning disorder. Often there will be a point in their adolescence where they have trouble because of this. 
> 
> They are intelligent = they don’t need help —> struggling in school/ socially
> 
> That exact scenario is not always true, but I would imagine that it is the way it would present itself with Reid. I make a claim in this chapter that a support system for such kids doesn’t exist— this is another part of the story which is drawing on my personal experience. (Am I projecting? Haha— Yes. Yes I am.)
> 
> Sources used in writing this chapter:  
> Tourist statistics for Las Vegas: Las Vegas Sun survey   
> The Las Vegas Water District website   
> (Probably more, I should have kept better track.)
> 
>  
> 
> So, does anyone have any suspects so far? Let me know what you think! :D This work will probably be somewhat short, maybe 4-5 chapters. (If I stick to the plan, but I am awful with plans.)
> 
> Sincerely,  
> Lucipang

**Author's Note:**

> Well, if you made it this far, let me know what you think. I’m not sure what possessed me to write this. At one point I considered making it a one shot, then concluded that would be too long. So yeah, it will be multi part, but not super long... 
> 
> This story is meant to focus on his experience as being twice exceptional, which is the term for being extremely intelligent while also having a learning disability. In Reid’s case, he is intelligent while also having a mild form of autism (Aspergers). Some parts are based off of my own experiences. Feel free to call me out on anything you think is unrealistic.
> 
> So, should I continue? 
> 
> *crickets* 
> 
> ... Anyways, have a great day/night.


End file.
